


Smoldered Flame

by GrimRiver



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Chastity Device, Collars, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian focus, Orgasm Denial, POV Female Character, Penis-As-Prop, Tickling, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRiver/pseuds/GrimRiver
Summary: Mordred Pendragon, the bastard child of King Arthur, answers Chaldea's call to save humanity from annihilation-- She quickly finds that Chaldea's Master has other plans for her...





	Smoldered Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story contains fictional 18+ elements of BDSM and peril that some people may find uncomfortable. All of my stories feature characters who are of-age and all stories are purely fantasy, and don't represent my stance on BDSM or life in general. BDSM should always be practiced safely, sanely, and consensually. All copyrighted characters are owned by their respective organizations and I am not affiliated with them. If you don't enjoy stories like this, I recommend you avoid reading it.
> 
> Ever since the Fate/Apocrypha anime started, I've wanted to do a story with Mordred. She's positively delightful, and I love her spirit! Despite her history and circumstance, she remains absolutely unquenchable in her convictions.
> 
> I think one of the hardest things about designing a story in this universe is how monstrously strong most of the characters are, and how intertwined many of their relationships are despite the fact they're often not present with all involved parties of their lore.
> 
> F/GO provides a very convenient and useful tool for this type of fiction! It's also a rather lovely Mobile game, if at times extremely salt-inducing, and I encourage you to give it a try if you actively enjoy-- or are curious-- about the IP in general. Thanks for reading!
> 
> For now among all the F/GO stories I write, there will be no fan-canon continuity among them all unless a story is noted as a sequel. So I shall swap when needed between the male and female Master, and their personalities will widely vary depending on the story-- as they likely do among players themselves.
> 
> Character Refs:
> 
>  
> 
> [Mordred](https://imgur.com/zRXZfqT)  
> [Fujimaru Ristsuka aka FGO Master MC](https://imgur.com/8rgyMwn)  
> [Gilgamesh](https://imgur.com/z6AlHgq)

“Aren’t you so lucky to be here?”

"Ahhh~! I just can't believe I get to cuddle up with this wonderful girl every night!", her captor spoke in a feminine voice, saccharine-sweet.

"I just love you so much, my sweet little Mordred!"

"NNNNNNNN! GWWW FKKKNG DYYY!"

“Hehehe,” she cooed. “The most gentle, helpless little thing here...”

She'd told Mordred it was almost impossible to summon her here, a thing of luck and fate. A shot in the dark, a prayer to Mother Mary, with nearly no chance of success. 

What horrible destiny had God thrust upon her, that it would prove successful? That she would approach like a moth before a flame? That even in death, the rightful king would be rejected for who she was? That someone who…. _coveted_ her so much would care nothing for her?

Day in and day out, while mighty, timeless beings around her worked, fought, and bled for a sense of purpose and glory, fought to save the world itself from an evil spanning wider than anything before it, she was denied every last dignity in being involved in it. Instead, she was damned to spent her days denied: exhausted, stewing, and frustrated in soft, submissive slumber.

She possessed mere seconds of freedom upon entering this place before that woman raised her hand, burning a crimson marking off of it, and commanded “Kneel, and submit to my words!”

The memory was burnt into her brain. How wide her eyes had been in disbelief as she knelt. How hard she’d gritted her teeth as she folded her wrists neatly behind her. How she’d trembled with anger as she stopped speaking on command, _thanked_ her on command-- the thought of it made her want to scream.

It was more than she could bare to recount it, and yet she’d found herself doing just that-- hundreds of times.

“Goodness, you look good enough to eat, don’t you?” 

She stared death straight into her captor’s eyes. Glared as if she could burn them out of the girl’s head.

Yet she could only watch helplessly as her head was pet with an amused affection. “But I know better than to spoil myself...” 

She watched in horror as the girl bent down between her legs. Loomed with half-lidded joy over that...that... _thing_ strapped between her legs! 

“After all, you smell sweeter and sweeter every day you marinate in here...”

\---

She'd spent this day like the last 138 days before it _\-- she'd counted_ \--  bound and gagged and endlessly pampered in this coquettish, feminine hell that her... _Master..._ had deemed somehow acceptable, a prison forget by someone without a heart. Here in this heap between space and time known as Chaldea.

For the bulk of the day, every day, from the waking hours of dawn to well-past the soft dusk, she was leashed to the headboard of the softest bed-- the softest material-- she'd ever felt in her life. The snug, plush-lined white leather collar was locked several times over. From what she could tell, this place’s mana reserves were enormous, but Mordred was offered nearly nothing, weaker in this moment than she’d ever been on Earth. She knew this wasn’t the fate of everyone here. The hulking, brutish berserkers that occasionally entered the room-- silently tending to her hygiene and confirming her presence when her Master was gone for extended periods of time, were positively rippling with brolic power.  Though their minds were like mush, she envied them in those moments. Forget exceeding her potential-- her own power was locked away. This body was a mockery of what she was capable of.

Mordred’s wrists and ankles were bound with reinforced leather cuffs, boned with metal but rendered soft as silk with gentle cushions that lined them. Locked with even more awful keys, the heart-shaped padlocks that jingled all day taunted her, sending her into furious, hysterical struggling. But no matter how much she tried, escape seemed no more palpable than on day one; her situation no less strict. She’d tugged on them to exhaustion time and time again, struggled until she sank her sweat-soaked brow into a cold pillow, yet the material carried not even a wrinkle in the leather from her efforts.

To make matters worse, the horrible chain wrapped around her pale blonde ponytail pulled her neck back, holding her in a strict hogtie, severely limiting her movement and ability to look around. The chain ran through her cuffs’ chains midway, keeping her wrists firmly pinned in place.  The tether was nearly as utterly infuriating as its link at the other end of her body-- A perverse, unnecessary pair of tiny cuffs that locked her _toes_ together of all things.  A measure she found ridiculous at first, but had grown to deeply, viciously hate.

“Ngh…. NNGH!? NNNNNFFF!”

It always hit her immediately. Those horrible, unbearable sensations that shattered her dignity, peeled back every layer she could put up-- and left her a squealing, indignant mess.

It was those _nails._ Those long, slender claws that the harpy dragged down her soles with a giddy euphoria. Just them touching her was like needles-- causing her to jerk that painful chain as that wicked feeling was etched with dragging fingers from one end of her foot to the other. Forcing her to tug her hair in overstimulated agony, or arch her back as far back as she could just to get a few inches of give-- a way to stop those sharp, scribbling pangs from sliding down her delicate feet.

“Hehe, let’s see how these restraints are holding up! Can you move those feet at all?

“NNGH-HHHHH-HHH! FKNGGG ST-HHHH—HHHHHHHHP!”

The sound of a shrill, feminine squeal escaping her muffled lips made her want to curl up and die. She could barely keep her thoughts together.

She hadn’t remembered being this sensitive. 

No.

She never _was_ this sensitive. This _maidenly_. It was just another change her captor had produced over these many months of tending to her body-- another unfamiliar burden to endure. Another shameful thing to spend the next day feeling miserable over! Another way to get her thrashing and grunting with wrath while her Master barely lifted a finger.

And like all the others before it, she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

“OHHHF _CRRRF_ AHH CNNNT FKKNN-MMMM-- _OHHHHM!_ ” her voice squeaked up an octave, her hips flailing from side to side as those horrible talons dug into just the right spot. She squeezed her eyes shut. No matter how she bent herself, how much slack she tried to give her feet at the burden of her ponytail, she couldn’t even scrunch up the smooth, gentle pads that her Master never tired of exploring-- dancing and doting over them here or there, for as long as she desired, just to see what would happen.

“Really? But you went on and on about how strong you were. Is this just not enough motivation? Should I fetch the brushes again?”

**“NNNNNNNNNNNNN!”**

She glared quaking daggers at her captor through a pair of stressed, glossy eyes. 

“Hmmmmmm~… Well, okay. I suppose it makes sense that you’re getting a little weaker. We can stop for now.”

These rituals only served one purpose-- to make her futile, forced struggles even more painful than they’d normally be-- and for her captor to flutter away her boredom-- dancing to Mordred’s fuming, screeching muffled cackles. With the elaborate harness covering her head-- a white leather panel which stretched her jaws _wide_ with a solid rubber ball on the inside-- she found that even her full, throaty screams were reduced to demure moans and pathetic, whimpering squeals-- and her Master knew just what to do, just what to touch or say-- to force out whatever specific sound she desired.

She’d become quite familiar with the silky red lingerie that covered her for almost every minute of the day. Sheer with a transparent mesh around her stomach and arms, the outfit did little to cover her up, save for the red panties lacy bra and panties, which left-- quite literally-- nothing to the imagination. An elaborate cut-out in the shape of hearts left her nipples and crotch exposed to the open air, covered with the sheerest mesh on the entire outfit. What made Mordred furious was the...display of it all. The red lingerie was an attempt to mock the clothing she normally wore-- clothing which left -more- of her body exposed that this current outfit.

The clothing wasn’t meant to put her taut, lithe muscles on display, or allow her freedom of movement. It was to draw attention to those aspects which only held her back in the life she’d endured. Attention to her small, supple breasts and rosy, pert buds, her tight rear and her denied, _aching_ crotch. It covered her arms and stomach, hiding all of her definition and making them appear delicate and feminine. The clothing made her want to scream-- She would have, if her recovering voice wasn’t still hoarse from the last time she’d dwelled on it excessively.

The clothing was a stark contrast to the comfortable pink pajamas that the auburn-haried lunatic that summoned her wore every night, when she retired to the same bed in which Mordred thrashed and suffered for months.

The feeling was unbearable. Her white-hot rage had long been starved out, given months and months to cool off. Now it was little more than a hungry, smoldering fire; eager to ignite again, and prone to bouts of it, but far too exhausted to properly do anything but fizzle in and out. 

If she just had one proper chance! She’d… she’d…!

“Mnnnnn, I just love how warm you always are… It’s really cold outside of this place right now, you know~” She snuggled up closer, nuzzling into her neck. “It just won’t stop snowing.”

“FKKK _YWWW_!”, she shrieked with rage, her muffled voice cracking. “DNNN FKNNNNG **TFFF**  MYYYY!”

Her captor’s giggle was cut short by a deep yawn, which she muffled with the back of her hand, returning the frigid limb back underneath the thin cups covering Mordred’s breasts-- cradling her skin again. “I’m already getting so sleepy, what a day… We haven’t had a fight like that in a long time.”

Her thumbs and forefingers slid onto Mordred’s soft pink nipples, causing her eyes to go wide and shake with anger. Not kneading them. Not groping them. Just fucking _sitting there_ resting with them, like she was the least threatening thing on earth. Like it had absolutely no consequences, no meaning.

And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

 _”God.”_ She thought to herself. _“At least move them… Who the Hell does something like this to someone?”*_

 

It just didn’t make sense… She _was_ strong! She _was_ capable. Stronger than anyone here! If she were down there right now, she’d show them all what she was capable of-- more than anyone in this place, more than Arthur if her horrible, cruel father was here. Making her this weak, treating her like this-- it was ridiculous! It was inept!-- It was brutal and heartless and disgusting. It was...It was…

It was the exact same pain she’d gone through in life, but so, so much worse…

And she knew she couldn’t take much more of it.

“There we go. Look, you’ve already got me all warmed up~”

The woman’s hands trailed underneath the sheer fabric, down her torso. Despite her touch being so fleeting, Mordred could feel another hot, aching pulse of emptiness deep between her legs, causing her to shiver. 

\---

“Toasty as can be. Aren’t you just the most darling little thing? Thank you so much.”

Her actions never matched her words-- Mordred simply couldn’t handle it. People should speak what they mean! People should be honest with themselves. That mistake ruined Father, ruined Lancelot-- destroyed everything she’d cared about. She’d tried to live her life above those things-- beyond the influence of these fake people.

And yet, she couldn’t deny the influence this woman was starting to force on her mind. Melding her with those horrible morning rituals that hit far too close to home-- filled with taunts that bored into her exposed heart, and personal details that she had no right to possess. 

She’d watch with a fuming, shaking dread every morning as the girl would ready herself for the day with a relaxed elegance, ignoring absolutely anything Mordred did-- even the few times she’d dropped herself off the bed with a frustrated grunt. That’s when she’d lean in and brush the knight’s hair, doting on her, and filling her mind with those invasive, cruel thoughts.

The topic was different every day, with no pattern to prepare herself.

There were the conversations that left her exhausted. Her Master would sit there, stroking her hair and fawning over how weak her body was becoming. Noticing how for such a sleepy thing her eyes had bags forming under them-- then asking her if it was from crying. She’d spend the day blinded by a soft,  impermeable mask. Told to get some sleep “for some time together tonight.” Her body would be weak as lace, and her mind groggy-- but at least the day would pass quickly in a series of still, docile naps, and her mind wouldn’t go to those guilty, dark places-- wondering how Father would have handled the situation. How easy it would be for the King she’d never see again to escape this situation. How little complaining there would be, how _calm_ and _noble_ and utterly inhuman this endeavor would have been handled! How it never, ever would have been about their own suffering, even for a second!

At least she’d be spared those things, for just a day.

But there were far crueler days. There were the days that left her lonely and ashamed, with her Master filling her mind with those horrible, unshakable thoughts of her own pathetic, shameful helplessness. Talks filled with memories of her life which her Master somehow knew of, and was happy to prompt. How she’d desired the approval of Father. How she’d died on that battlefield. How… how history had misunderstood everything, and labeled her as a traitor and a coward. It was too much. It was just far, far too much. She’d scream and thrash, try to bite at her Master’s hand as she re-applied the gag, look at her through narrowed eyes as she left the room. But that burst of fire wouldn’t-- _couldn’t_  last. And it would leave her too troubled and listless to properly resist her captor’s cradling-- and in some shameful, disgusting way-- almost feel comforted by it. She’d dealt with many of those calm, sad nights-- especially early on. Falling asleep with the fire in her heart nearly extinguished. Wondering… if she was even worthy to be tethered to the throne of heroes. 

There were the days where hunger took a forefront, where her sick captor would examine her malnourished, shrinking muscles with unbridled joy, pointing out how they were nearly the same size now as her own. Starved of both mana and the energy from food alike, she was wasting away. Her Master would eat a hearty meal in front of her, leaving her famished for the day. The worst part of it was what her Master made her do if she wanted to get any rations the next day, or the day after-- Made her say “Enjoy the food, Master” before eating, and “I hope you enjoyed the meal, Master” after, keeping her eyes on the food all the while.

She’d resisted it. Cursed and swore and spat time and time again until the endless pangs eroded her sensibilities, and she’d found herself, over a week without food-- uttering the words with crimson-cheeked shame. 

It sent a chill down her spine to realize she’d… felt less shame every time. ‘This is what you do to get fed.’ She’d told herself. It was shameful, pathetic… 

That she’d been reduced to this. That it stopped hurting to become _this >_.

But the absolute worst one-- the one she simply could not stand, is the dynamic that never stopped coming-- that involving her denial and chastity.

That devil’s solution which made her nethers quiver and quake with lust without end, with absolutely no way to get the slightest reprieve from the sensations-- that unbearable urge which grew worse and worse by the minute. The eternal, aching emptiness that ate at her with no pause, and blanketed her thoughts in a dark, wet haze. Time and time again she’d been taken to the edge, but her captor ensured that a climax was never actually possible. Over time, even those edging advances were removed, leaving her to stew and suffer in nothingness day after day, week after week.

Even if she were able to release her thorough restraints, the horrible metal belt around her legs-- pulled so tightly that it kneaded the flesh around her supple thighs-- ensured that she would never so much as run a finger over her trembling, hungry pussy, let alone get the relief that she so desperately needed-- the feeling she’d been deprived of for **months.**

It had been a constant companion to her since she’d began her captivity. She couldn’t even guess where the key to it was located.

There was no sign of this ending any time soon. Her Master didn’t need her muscles, her mind, her body… She just enjoyed her-- used her as an amusement. And to this woman, nothing was more amusing than Mordred’s own suffering.

It would be one thing to just have to deal with the horrible, unobtainable desire to grind, hump, fuck absolutely *anything* she could manage. Right now, a bedpost would be like a goddess to her. 

But her captor didn't stop there, oh no-- not one bit. No shred of dignity was left intact.

"Nghhh...~" she moaned a sultry, _hungry_ breath into Mordred’s ear. She could feel her own breath hitch just from this little bit of stimulation. "You should have seen that God of an archer today."

With her back turned, she was still able to make out the unmistakable sound of her Master removing her own pajama bottoms. "I nearly fell off of a building, and he caught me in his strong arms. Grinned and told me how careless I was.  How lucky I was to be in his presence..."

There was that telltale, unmistakable sound of lace snapping downward.

"Ah, it's enough to make a girl swoon, don't you think Mordred?"

And the first pungent wave of her Master's sopping wet slit assaulted her nostrils. 

“Mmmmmngh~, it feels so _good_ to play. I’ve been looking forward to this for hours, you have no idea.”

"I should warm up. We've got a little company later. I’ll be nice and close, my little spoon. Remember, no peeking right now. You don't look down at genitals. You look _up_ at them."

\---

It was a regular occurrence-- though it wasn’t always the same person. 

From the bits of and pieces of what slipped in conversation-- conversation her Master wasn’t happy to have reached her ears-- it seemed like most of the servants here didn’t know she was actually being kept prisoner. Didn’t know of her captivity or of the sick provocations that her Master designed to enjoy at her expense. To them, she was simply a benevolent mage-- someone standing up to save this world. Someone who would never, ever do something so cruel.

She remembered what her Master had boasted of-- That this hobby of hers was something she’d never gotten to experience before coming here.

That it mattered more than anything.

And that keeping it a secret made it all the more beautiful.

That-- and only that, was the single thread that kept her from teetering into insanity. Knowing that her pain could unravel if someone, anyone, with a good heart wandered into this place.

But those men were not the ones whose presence she’d been granted.

They were men exuding power and arrogance, coming to this room not for her, but for her Master-- night after night without fail. Some of them would take interest in Mordred and would talk to her. Some with a feigned sympathy, some with outright jeers. None of them were ever interested in helping her.

But him-- he was the only one who refused to say a word to her. 

The only one who openly regarded her as the most worthless, contemptible creature on this mystic vessel. As an existence only worthy of a laugh. 

And she wouldn’t stop inviting the bastard, ever.

That golden fool of an archer, with a composed, intrinsic hubris that dwarfed anything she’d ever seen. Those smug teeth she craved to kick in, which looked at her like she was a piece of furniture. She remembered the glint in his eyes as he seemed to take fascination in her form. Remembered the first conversation they had in front of her.

"You're lucky I’m gracing you like this at all, mongrel, but it’s an actual miracle that I'm allowing this fake to watch. She’s considerably lower than the rest of you.”

A fake…?

“And yet that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Of course. Your body is no different than any other I’ve been offered in vain-- lesser than the average, in fact. But I’m curious. To see someone so much like _her_ , with all of the strength and none of the spirit. Will I find it amusing? Pathetic? Interesting? I want to know the answer, and so you’ll be putting on a good show for me!”

“Oh, absolutely.” she’d heard her Master coo.

“And I’m sure,” he said, not even looking her way, “That the Fake Arthur will do her simple part as well, like a dog would play dead.”

How? How did this man know Father?

He wasn’t a Knight. She’d never laid eyes on him. 

Who was he…?

It was the same occurrence every time. He'd summon yards and yards of tight silver chains from every which direction around Mordred, lashing her down to the bed on her stomach. He'd unhook that chain from the headboard and wind it up over his hand, removing all the slack from it. Keeping her head perfectly still, even though there was no damn way she was going anywhere.

And then he would give her Master mind-shattering orgasm after orgasm. Ride her, fondle her, pound her, _ravage_ her, just inches from her face. All the while not even acknowledging Mordred’s presence, nor saying a word to her. Just drinking up her frustration, and uttering the occasional laugh.

But as for attention, the harpy did a perfectly fine job supplying that unwanted bane.

\---

“Mnnnggghhh…ohhmmmm..ahhhhhh~” She sighed as she popped that girthy, hard cock out of her mouth once again. “Keep watching, Mordred...” she whispered, running her tongue slowly down that shaft, relishing every last bit of it. Finding her favorite spots, those touches that made that God King hum and sigh with reserved pleasure, and using every which way she could to please him. “You wouldn’t believe how good this feels in my mouth.”

She watched her Master lean into him, running a hand down his abs and hips and thighs as she demurely lowered her head back down, preparing him for round two. So very close to Mordred’s glaring eyes. A glare she kept very carefully in check-- she knew the consequences for making eye contact, and already sported two stinging red marks on her cheeks for doing so. 

The smell of his slick, wet penis was absolutely soaked with sex. Every waft of their aroma caused her breathing to get heavier and her pulse to quicken. It had been such a long time... She could feel her toes curl and her legs press together with every fresh wave of coitus that assaulted her senses. Watching her pump that cock from the twitching, reddened head all the way down to the thick, throbbing base. No matter how many times she stroked and sucked and squeezed, no matter how many times he came, it just got firmer and firmer and firmer...

What she would give to have something strong just like that for just sixty seconds. Something she could really sink onto with all her strength...

For just thirty seconds…

For just _ten_ seconds. God, she was sure it would be enough…!

The warm, wet feeling collecting at her chin made her release an ashamed, quiet little moan. Drool…

Once she got going like this, she knew there was no stopping it. Controlling her mouth was all but impossible- all she could do is shamefully drip and drip from that horrible, degrading gag.

She averted her eyes downward, narrowing them as her Master leaned in very close to her, breathing the scent of sex into her nostrils as she kissed her lips through the panel gag, running her tongue slowly down to her chin. “My my, Mordred. You’re drooling over this wonderful cock more than me, aren’t you?”

“Nnnnnnngghhhh…..”

She felt her cheeks burning red, closing her eyes tight.

“So much that even that tight, tight panel couldn’t hold it all back. How embarrassing… My poor poor thing.”

She caressed her cheeks around the tight leather straps. That… that smell just wouldn’t go away…

“My poor, overwhelmed submissive girl. You just want someone to touch you so badly, don’t you?”

The knight continued to bury her head into the bed, her face absolutely burning with shame.

_“I… I do… I want to get off… Get off and get out of these damn restraints, and cleave you both in half. And the second I get lose you’re going to--”_

“Hmhhhhff!?”

Her flustered attempt at composure shattered as her Master took that horrible cock and-- quite literally-- shoved it in her face, the soft inviting head poking her in the middle of her panel. Her eyes shot open wide, fixated on it-- exposing her innocence.

“You’ve never touched a cock before, isn’t that right Mordred?”

“N!….N!...N-n-nnnn…!” she could feel her muffled, embarrassed protests collapse on themselves, her eyes fixated on the phallus pressing against her. 

“Well if you’re going to slobber, get slobbering all over this~ If you don’t do a good job, you’re getting a brutal punishment tomorrow-- and I’ll be taking the day off to personally administer it.”

Her eyes shot open with an outraged, mortified snort of disbelief. Was she...really supposed to do this!? She felt her bound hands shaking in anger, trembling in their gentle plush prison.

“What, are you embarrassed?” she heard her Master giggle. “Here, I’ll help you.”

It hurt. Hurt to have her head yanked forward, forcing her to bend her legs forward to accommodate until her thighs were on fire. But she barely registered those sensations right now-- instead offering a sputtering, incoherent protest that only served to keep that horrible stream of drool flooding freely, as the leather of her gag and the bottom of her chin met that warm, throbbing cock.

“You want to start right here at the head...~” Her Master’s tone became huskier while retaining its singsong cooing.  She couldn’t believe her chin was on...on…!

Her face was absolutely on fire. She’d never been this humiliated in her entire life! The scream welling up in her throat finally proved too overwhelming for her, and she cursed her actions as the pitiful, breathy snarl exited her mouth, followed by another cascade of drool onto that… That…

Damn it…. Damn it…! No, no, no, NO, _NO!_

“Normal girls don’t slobber all over the place you know. So they need to put in a little bit of work first. Some nice, slow licks all the way from this firm head, all the way down the underside of the shaft.”

She watched as her soaked chin was dragged across the hard, pulsing penis, rubbing it from the nape of her neck all the way up to her stuffed, bulging, burning-red cheeks.

The scent and feeling was absolutely intoxicating…

Despite her revulsion at this man, at the situation, she had difficulty convincing her body that it wasn’t about to get fucked. Even now, she could feel the moisture dripping down her thighs in occasional, crawling little trails. 

“And then once it’s nice and wet like that, you can pump it in your hands to make sure it’s hard enough to really drive you wild.”

She watched him move. Chuckling to himself as he placed his cock into her neatly bound hands-- docile digits that had long been made useless, save for this singular purpose. This was the first time she’d held one of these in her hands. The heat and girth of the mass was completely alien to her, beyond what she’d imagined it would be. She heard his soft, conceited hums as he gently thrust in and out, growing stiffer in her soft grip, her maidenly palms which had lost their calluses and color. Her gently clutching fingers, which no longer harbored the boldness to slash into the offender that was silently enjoying them. 

Her mind was a mess from the constant assault on her senses. She couldn’t think about much more than wanting to use this. Wondering how that smell would change with her own body mixed in. Wondering if her starving nethers would struggle to accommodate it, or eagerly take it in. Her eyes grew half-lidded as she escaped into that fantasy, however briefly.

But that weary expression slowly composed itself as he stood up once again, walking behind her this time.

Wait…

Were they really going to-- 

Really going to…?

Her eyes went wide again as she heard the click of a lock behind her. And for the first time in months, her skin, grown a shade paler than the rest of her light-starved body, felt the cool exposure of air. 

Several of the chains around her lower back loosened themselves, lashing themselves around her thighs instead of the bed-- placing her ass-up, in a receiving mount position. 

“H...Hmmmgh...!?” Her tone lacked the fury it would normally carry for much lesser offenses.

“I know you’re just _starving_ for this, aren’t you?” she heard her Master speak. “I’m really not sure how many days its been, but I can smell your lust all day. I know it’s nearly all you think about these days. And even though I love you like this, even though I’d love to see how far we can push it, I’m willing to give you a chance.. for just a little price.”

She felt her heart skip a beat as she felt the tip of the man’s warm cock graze her pussy, causing a tremor of excitement to cascade down her thighs. It took all of her strength to not go weak in the knees.

“My lovely God of an archer here doesn’t view you as a person, or much of anything, really. So all you have to do to get this...” 

“HH—HHHH—HMMMMF!” she found herself gasping as her Master’s fingers penetrated her sopping wet pussy, just for a second, before retracting themselves. The feeling was almost enough to make her cum. She felt herself struggling to not get sent into a frenzy.

“Is say this:”

“Please, my King, penetrate this worthless fake knight. Please give my existence meaning!”

And that elated feeling, in an instant, completely smoldered out.

 _“Don’t...”_ she felt herself echo through her own head, as she felt her eyes trembling. As she watched her vision start to blur. As she clamped down with gritted teeth on that ball in her mouth, so hard she thought it might tear in half.

Was she really going to surrender?

_”You have to get a grip...”_

_”Don’t… Please don’t let yourself do it…”_

“Plfff, myyy...”

“Mmmm, that’s right...” she watched her captor lick her lips through blurred vision.

“Plffff, myyy K….”

“myy K….K...”

And the dam behind her eyes broke.

“NGGGGGGGH!” she shook her head furiously, wincing at the pain. “NWWW! AHHH WNNNT!”

“Oh ho, really now…?” she asked. 

She nodded her head, frustrated tears streaming down her face. Even through all this, she was staring daggers at her Master. She took another hard slap in the face for it.

 _“Anything but that...”_ she told herself. _I’d rather burn in Hell…!”_

Her master patted her head gently. “Struck a nerve, I see. I understand.”

She bent down to eye level, a peaceful look on her face. “You can look me in the eyes.”

They met. “You understand I’m going to lock you back up, right? And since you disrespected my guest, you’re going to watch in the corner from now on. That means I’ll never, ever give you a chance to cum ever again. Do you follow?”

Her body was absolutely shaking. Hanging her head, she nodded. Mordred attempted to bury her face into the bed, but her Master gripped her chin, holding it up firmly.

“I’m going to get in your head for such a long time. Until you can’t even get back to the throne of heroes when I’m done. Do you understand?”

She tried to nod her head. But she was just too exhausted. This was… this was was far, far more than she could handle.

Her Master dropped her head, and she let out a shrill, banshee shriek. Screamed and roared into that soft, gentle bed that would remain her home for such a long, long time.

Howled with such feral frustration that her knuckles went white, and the gag itself could do little to contain it.

It was the first time she’d ever sobbed in front of her Master like this.

She continued, until her throat gave out. Until she simply couldn’t muster any more energy.

And then she silently shook and shuddered with breathy heaves into the bed.

She felt those horrible hands running through her hair. “Such a… tantrum.” the girl giggled.

“My King, would you do me the honor of showing our little fake what she’s missing out on?”

\---

 

He’d said one thing to her before he left. “Is there a little bit of dignity deep within you, failure? How amusing.”

She’d heard him chuckle again, like this was the most ordinary thing in the world. “I suggest you let it go. It doesn’t deserve to be trapped inside of someone so useless.”

And then they were alone in that ever-familiar nightly caress. Mordred on her side, her eyes dull and empty as coasters. 

“I know it’s hard.” her Master laid her hands on her chest again. 

She didn’t react to it this time at all. 

“I really have a sadistic side, I suppose. Even though we’re saving the world, I can’t deny that this is the highlight of my day. You might even say it’s the most important thing to me, seeing what I can do with you. Seeing how you change, day by day.”

“I’m certain quite a few servants would try to kill me themselves, if they knew what I was doing here. Not that they’ll ever find out.”

“But it’s really interesting. You’re certainly no Arthur.”

Her eyes slowly slid over to her Master, resting there, unwavering. Expressionless.

“Or ‘Artoria’, wasn’t it?”

The light in her eyes started to come back. Just for a moment, they glimmered with curiosity.

Her captor laughed. “Haven’t you wondered why I decided you were completely useless to be part of my group? Why I took the time to hide you away here?”

And her expression went wild as everything clicked into place.

_“No...”_

“Why Gilgamesh found you a mere amusement? Why it’s impossible to view you as a proper servant?”

She thrashed. Somehow, she mustered up the energy. 

_“You…! YOU…!”_

“Why do we need a failed child...”

Her eyes scorched, **burned** with anger.

“When we have the real King fighting for us?”

She wasn’t sure what had done it. Whether in four months time she’d managed to erode that chain layer by layer. Whether that golden bastard had re-secured it wrong. Or whether she’d just endured one too many insults to keep her restrained by materials of this world. 

But that chain connecting to her hair went flying loose.

And though she remained bound, she was still a knight capable of killing even the King of Camelot

Before her Master could do little more than let out a startled shriek, she’d slammed her head squarely into the girl, just above her stomach. Stunned and gasping for breath with a spastic, sputtering cough, Mordred rolled on top of her, gripping the end of the chain still attached to her feet with her bound hands. She spun around, wrapping her feet around the girl’s slender neck.

And she pulled her legs backwards, tight as she could manage.

Her Master’s--

No.

That _girl’s_ coughing dissipated into a startled, throaty croak, which gave way to absolute silence. With a horrified expression, she’d looked over at Mordred. Looked down at her hand-- with her command seals run dry for the day. Her expression when she returned the gaze was one of disbelief.

Disbelief in seeing Mordred’s eyes, red and tense with a confidence not seen since the day she was summoned. Her hands tugged and pulled at the chain, but it didn’t even come close to budging-- digging deeper and deeper into her flesh with each passing second. And her expression quickly turned to one of horror.

She pulled harder. Grunting hard into her gag. Turning her head to expose the lock. And giving an extra tug for good measure.

She’d only let up when the girl, her lips starting to go blue, slid a small silver key into the lock and turned the key with a click. A click so relieving and freeing that she could cry, if she weren’t preoccupied with nearly crushing this fool’s windpipe. The girl just managed to undo the two buckles behind her head before, with trembling hands, she clutched and shook again at the chain around her neck.

Mordred eased up on the chain-- Not enough to take a full breath. This bitch didn’t deserve that.

“M...Mor...dr...” she gasped for air.

“You’re….goi….kk….kiilll….m...”

With a jerk of her head, she spat out the panel. A small stream of drool still loosely connected her chin to it. She paid it no mind. She barely processed it.

“Kill you? And ruin my chance at proving myself? Oh, no no.” she forced out a grin, her eyes stern and wicked. Her words calm, stern, slow. “Not a fucking chance.”

“Ahhhh...” she took a deep breath, ignoring the writhing girl before her, taking in grateful breaths of air. “It feels so good to be able to breathe.”

Her expression hardened back up in an instant. “The rest of the keys. Now.”

“Th...e….”

She’d watched her captor make a circle with her hand.

“It opens every lock?”

The girl nodded, frantically. 

She’d loosened the chain considerably for just a second. “Breathe.” she commanded.

The girl furiously took gulps of air before Mordred cut her off mid exhalation, sending her into a panic again.

It took a minute or so, but she’d managed to fish the key out of the discarded padlock, inserting it into the ones around her wrist.

Click by click, she’d released them. Pulled the buckles free. 

She tossed the cuffs, padlocks at all, to the horrified little maiden writhing in agony on the bed. 

“Put them on if you want another breath.”

It took no time at all before the girl fitted herself with the leather cuffs, presenting the locks to Mordred, who pushed them both closed with a satisfying snap.

“Ahhh, I could get used to that. It certainly does feel good doing this to such a worthless person, doesn’t it?”

“Breathe. The next one might kill you.”

She sputtered as she sucked in breasts between fits of talking. “G-GOD, STOP!” the girl begged, at her absolute limit. “Mordred, I’ll give you anything! Do you want Arthur? Do you want s-”

She pulled the chain harder than she’d ever done so far. The girl’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “That doesn’t seem like breathing to me.” she said in a cool tone. She released it one more time-- she wasn’t kidding about her former statement. “Breathe.”

The girl took it three silent gulps, and she’d tugged it shut again. 

Another click.

This time her chastity belt fell to the bed. She threw it to the side with a face filled with reproach.

She’d used her hands this time-- grabbing the girl by a clump of her hair, and pulling her forward.

Forward and down. Very, _very_ down. 

“Do you like it down there?” she asked with a cold expression.

The girl continued to tug at her chain. She pulled tighter.

“I said, do you like it down there?”

She could see her captive's horrified expression as she slowly nodded yes.

She laughed.

For the first time in months, she really laughed. She could feel the pain sloughing off of her heart in heavy layers of relief.

What the hell had she been doing…? How did she get that despondent? That helpless?

 _This_ is what almost drove her to ruin?

She’d recalled the last thing her father ever said to her. That she didn’t have the capacity of a king.

She spat away the thought, returning her focus to the girl.

“I’m sure you do. You seemed fixated enough on it. So why don’t you do the honors?”

The girl looked up with an expression of utter disbelief.

She loosened the chain again. “Breathe.” Enough for two deep breaths.

“You get another when I cum.”

The feeling of a tongue running over her pussy was nearly enough to send shaking, uncontrollable bursts of pleasure rushing over her--

But the feeling of lips sucking eagerly on her clit was enough to tip her over into a blank, white hot shudder of nothingness. For just an instant there was no shame, no exhaustion, no Father, no Chaldea--

Just a pulsing, fulfilled pleasure, as personhood rushed back into her, in warm, wonderful waves, from her curling toes to her hot, radiating womb.

She reflexively released the chain as she regained her composure, open mouthed and gasping in the moment, her hand grazing her parted lips.  She’d let the bitch try in vain to recover her breath.

Just as the girl started to get her body back under control, Mordred was upon her once again.

“What a wait.” she remarked to the girl, looking down at her. “That mouth really wasn’t worth all the anticipation.”

The girl looked up, tears streaming down her voice. “All this wasn’t just my idea. Please, just hear me out, I-”

She slapped her the girl across the face- _hard._

“W-wait!...Please, Gilga-”

Again-- _harder._

“Don’t make eye contact.” Mordred commanded.

The girl looked down, immediately.

She tightened the chain again, releasing it after another desperate spasm.

“I see controlling your breath works well. We’ll be using that plenty from now on. Count on it.”

“G...God!” the girl shrieked. “What the hell do I have to do? There has to be something! Do you want Arthur’s title? I’ll be the first to acknowledge it! Please, my Ki-nnngh! NGGGGH!”

The huge red rubber ball filled the girl’s mouth to its very limit as Mordred slammed the gag into it, securing it in place. Her eyes were like fire.

“You don’t deserve to be the first person to call me that. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded meekly.

Mordred grinned, narrowing her eyes. “Good.”

“Tomorrow, you’re going to get one of those things back. You’re going to use it to have that golden bastard run himself through.”

Trembling, she nodded her head.

“Then you’re going to give me whatever mana you’ve been feeding everyone here with. _All of it._ ”

Another nod.

“Then I’m killing every man you fucked in front of me here. And I’m going to force them to say what happened here.”

“And then we’re going to keep you right in this room, for as long as I’ll be in this realm.” 

She looked over at the belt on the ground. “And believe me, I’m going to be so much worse than what you did to me. After a few days, you’re going to pray that somehow you wake up in the position I was in.”

The girl slumped her shoulders, and let out a muffled sob.

“And then, we’re doing something about **Father.** ”

“Ahh...” 

The future King grinned with relief as she stretched her aching arms, resting them behind her head. She looked up at the ceiling.

“Aren’t I so lucky to be here?”


End file.
